– Jorge Luis Borges


My books (which do not know that I exist) are as much a part of me as this visage, with its grey hair at the temples and grey eyes that look for vanity in glass surfaces and wonderingly run my curved hand over. And not without some logical bitterness it occurs to me that the essential words that most express me are not in my own writings, but in these books that don’t know who I am. Better that way. The voices of the dead will utter me forever. 

– Pablo Neruda 


Los pájaros nocturnos picotean las primeras estrellas que centellean como mi alma cuando te amo. 

The birds of the night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you.

VII – Inclinado En Las Tardes (Leaning Into The Afternoons)